


Sleeping With Ghosts

by WhatGatsby



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Oh god, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, This is not what I intended, not very shippy, this started off so cute what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatGatsby/pseuds/WhatGatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People had a way of showing up in Steve's house. Uninvited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping With Ghosts

People had a way of turning up in Steve's house.

  
There was Sam who, for lack of a better term, was the least mentally unhinged member of the group, who at least had the decency to text him before hand and ask to crash at his place, even if he knew the answer was always yes. Nearly being assassinated together has a tendency to bond people together, as Sam always like to joke. Steve was always happy to offer the guest bed. Plus, that man's pancakes were legendary.

Then there was Natasha. Steve had come home from a run one night to find her curled up on his couch, wearing one of his undershirts and a pair of his pajama pants that fell about six inches below her feet. He blinked at her. She blinked right back and regarded him in sassy Russian silence. "Wanna watch?" She finally asked, gesturing towards the tv. Steve shrugged and sat down. She scooted her feet to let him sit, and then promptly rested them in his lap. "So... Why are you wearing my clothes?" He asked. "I wasn't gonna just hang out on your couch naked." She answered, eyebrow cocked. "I'm not that much of a dick. Mine are in your machine. They had stuff all over them. Plus sharing is caring, Rogers."She flicked the volume back up as the commercials ended. "Would that stuff be blood?"

"Not mine." She said nonchalantly."Now shh. I'm watching this."

If he was being honest, Steve really didn't mind having her there. His list of people he could call friends was pretty short these days, and he enjoyed her company. Sure, it was somewhat jarring to come home and find someone eating your cereal or asleep in your chair, or once(and they don't mention this, EVER, because goddam if that wasn't one of the most awkward things that's happened to them, and they've seen some shit) in your shower, but the good outweighed the weird. Natasha always had some excuse as to why she needed to stay,  
"Your place is closer to headquarters and I'm tired." Or  
"Your water pressure is better." Or  
"You have HBO.",  
But Steve knew the door swung both ways. Nat wasn't too keen on being alone all the time either, as much as she would throttle you and hide the body if you suggested otherwise. She always made it known she appreciated it, though, by 'accidentally' leaving all her nice expensive toiletries and food there and never bothering to come back for them. Once he returned to find her gone but his closet fully furnished with modern clothes he could actually stand to wear, and his fridge stocked with all kinds of deliciousness and a case of beer that tasted like pumpkin, which he had to call and ask if Sam knew about IMMEDIATELY WOW THIS IS CRAZY HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT THIS SAM? IT TASTES LIKE PUMPKIN WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN I REMEMBER BEER JUST TASTING LIKE BEER THIS IS CRAZY.  
"Dude." Sam said, after Steve was done with his epiphany about the wonders of the modern age. "Do you guys ever fucking SLEEP?"

And then, there was Bucky. How and when and what the actual hell were questions that didn't really seem worth answering when Natasha showed up at his door at three in the morning, wearing a somber expression and announcing that "We got a problem" before stepping aside to reveal the disheveled man who was standing behind her with eyes like a trapped animal's.

Bucky sat the edge of the guest bed, hands curling and uncurling on the comforter. Steve opened his mouth to say something, what, he didn't exactly know, but before he could get out a single syllable, Bucky got up and crossed to the door, shutting it in Steve's face. "Oh. Okay. I'll just. Okay." He muttered walking back towards the living room. Natasha leaned against the living room wall, and half smiled when Steve came back into sight, a smile that disappeared once she saw his face. "Do you want me to..." Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Help?" She offered weakly. She hated to admit that she had absolutely no idea what to do for him, or for the shadow in the other room. Steve shook his head and squeezed her shoulder lightly. "It's alright."  
"But what are you gonna-"  
"It's alright." He repeated. "I'll figure it out. He's my friend."  
"Steve," Natasha said quietly. "Even if he is in there somewhere...it's not going to be the same person who comes back."  
Steve shrugged and swallowed against the lump that was forming in his throat. "But it's still Bucky."

Nat left a a few hours later as the sun was inking its way across the sky, with Steve assuring her the whole time yes, I'm fine, yes I'll call you, come by when you want. He toyed with the idea of going back to bed and then decided that he would just rest in the armchair that faced the guest room, just, well, in case of-

In case.

He decided over the course of the next two days that this particular silence was one of the most tortuous things he would ever or had ever experienced. Forty eight hours with nothing but radio silence, punctuated with the slightest sounds of movement to assure him that Bucky was even still alive. By the third day, Steve was certain he was going insane, legitimately losing his grip. It felt as though there were a rat loose in his brain, running circles and scratching at the inside of his skull, and if he spent another damn second looking at these damn eggshell white walls he was going to put his fist through one multiple times until he was bleeding just to DO something.  
"OKAY." He barked at the stagnant air. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply for a moment. "Okay." He said again, nodding at nothing, if only to steel his resolve. He went to the coffee machine and turned it on, watching intently as it brewed. As he held the cup (black with too much sugar, isn't that how he likes it? Liked? Likes. Steve thought) he was actually grateful for the heat of the ceramic stinging his palm, it gave him something to focus on. He rapped softly on the door. Nothing. He knocked again. There was a soft rustling, and then silence again. Steve cleared his throat.  
"Hey Buck- I made some coffee if you want some?" There was no answer, not that he had expected one, but he had to try. "Alright, well I'll just leave it here if you-"  
The was a slight click as the door began to open. Bucky stood in the doorframe, blue eyes still wild and searching. His hand was outstretched towards Steve, and Steve jolted a bit. When Bucky made no other moves towards him, Steve realized what Bucky was reaching for. "Yeah." He said in what he hoped was a friendly tone, handing him the coffee. Bucky took the cup and continued to look blankly at Steve. "Well I'll let you, do whatever..." Steve said, turning to leave.  
"Thanks."  
Bucky's voice was rough and grating with the lack of use, but there it was. The same voice Steve could still hear echoing off the empty chambers of his mind when he couldn't sleep.  
Another click.  
"Welcome." Steve said to the closed door.

_It was the middle of December, and the street lights made the snow look yellow and dull. Steve could feel his chest burning. The familiar jabs were stabbing into his ribs, sending shock waves into his lungs, making each breath he took rack his body with pain. Everything he could see was swimming shades of blue and purple like the inside of his eyelids and red like the blood he was coughing up now and he couldn't breathe he couldn't breath he doesn't want to die here not alone here not without him and he couldn't breathe he couldn't-_

_"Steve?" Bucky bolted into the room like a shot, grease and oil from the docks till staining his face and hands. "Steve!" He shouted, dropping down to the mattress on the floor that was the only thing Steve could call a bed now and wrapping his arms around Steve's chest from behind in that gesture he's become so accustomed to performing every winter when the sickness came. "Hey." Bucky said, softer than he thought he was capable, not with the fear that was wrapping itself around his insides, "I'm here." He repeated the words like a mantra for god only knows how long, until Steve's breathing became less shallow. "I'm here." He said, resting his chin gently on top of Steve's head. "I'm here, pal."_

 

Steve had heard people scream before, more than he would like to remember, but he had never heard anything so feral, so desperate as sounds that woke him that night, that had him on his feet and running towards the guest room before he was even fully conscious.  
Bucky thrashed from side to side on the bed,eyes still closed, the fingers of his left hand clawing at the seam of his right shoulder and arm, his fingers leavening bloody tracks in the remaining skin. "Bucky!" Steve called, trying to grab hold of his hand and stop the scratching. "NO!" Bucky screamed, striking out at Steve so hard that the force threw him into wall. "Get away from me!" Steve reached for him again, this time exerting all of his strength to move Bucky's hand to his side. He resisted for another moment, and then the fight went out of his body. "I don't want it," he choked out.  
Steve felt as if there was a knife twisting into his stomach when he heard that. He shifted, sitting down on the edge of the bed and shifting Bucky so that his chest was pressed to Bucky's back. "I don't want it" Bucky whispered again, his voice like salt in a wound. "No. I don't want it. Please. _Please_." He recited the words over and over until his voice was barely audible, nothing but a murmur.  
Steve wrapped his arms around him, lightly at first, and then tighter when Bucky didn't resist. "I'm here." He breathed.  
"I'm here, pal."


End file.
